


Lalochezia

by Nighthaunting



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, konrad is a lurking lurker, the fists are the type of legion to have a swear jar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lalochezia

Rogal Dorn was not a man who was immune to frustration. Although his reserve was such that he rarely expressed it when he felt the bite of irritation, he did feel the urge to do so, at times.

Now was one of those times.

Observing proper protocols, Dorn turned command of the bridge over to the appropriate officers and withdrew to his personal rooms. Away from the immediate source of the annoyance, he hoped, he would be able to re-center himself and regain a sense of calm. The more he tried, though, the more intense his irritation became. Eventually he gave up.

Dorn swore vehemently. He was then immediately interrupted by a thunderous crash. Whirling to face the source of the disturbance, Dorn saw his brother sprawled on the floor in the smashed wreckage of the table that had broken his fall. The gouges that could be tracked across the wall and ceiling where someone wearing lightning claws had desperately tried to regain their grip and failed told more of a story than any explanation that could have been asked for.

From his position on the floor, Konrad looked up at Dorn with wide eyes. If he hadn’t been grinning like—and Dorn would never be as impolite as to voice the thought—a lunatic, Rogal would have said he was in shock. A noise rose from somewhere in Curze’s body, sputtering and uneven, gaining in volume until it streamed out from between his teeth.

It took Dorn several minutes of listening to the rise and fall of pure braying noise to realize Curze was laughing. Laying in the smashed remains of one of Dorn’s favorite tables after just having dropped unceremoniously from the ceiling, where he had been trespassing in Dorn’s private rooms; laughing.

Dorn swore again, and Curze’s laughter took on a hysterical edge.


End file.
